


NICHOLAS 530-826-0147

by Klarkom



Category: Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Animal Death, Child Death, Gen, Slenderverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klarkom/pseuds/Klarkom
Summary: A young monster struggles against the evil and violent nature of his species.  He makes friends with a dog.  He has a complicated relationship with his father.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	NICHOLAS 530-826-0147

I grew up in a ruin of brick and metal - built and then abandoned by humans many years ago. My mother told me many humans had worked and lived here once, doing strange human things. As a child I was familiar with it inside and out. I learned which of the markings on the walls had been caused by water, by fire, and by humans painting. My mother told me some of the paintings were messages in human language, but I was never able to understand them.

In my youth, the forest outside my home seemed vast. Every year nature reclaimed more of the building, blurring the line between inside and outside. My mother taught me that the forest was my true home - that when I was grown, I would know every inch of it as well as I knew our building. Every creature from the gnat to the deer fascinated me. I never attacked the creatures I studied, so I never realized the meat my mother fed me had once been an animal. I never saw them bleed, or what they looked like on the inside, until my father put an end to my peaceful existence.

As a young boy, I took to watching a group of humans play in the woods. They were children just like me, although shorter and fatter like humans are. Their soft hair and expressive faces were alien and beautiful at the same time. I coveted their bright, colorful clothing - so much more pleasant than the tight black cloth my mother dressed me in. I wanted a blue and green striped shirt with a collar, or a yellow dress with white flowers on it. One spring day I picked a score of wildflowers and pinned them to my jacket and trousers. I looked almost as happy and colorful as those human children, and maybe they wouldn't have been afraid of me, but I never worked up the nerve to approach them.

The last time I visited that place, it had been overcast and unusually cool for June. I knew something was amiss because it was silent - every other day I could hear those human children calling to each other before I saw the first flashes of color among the trees. That day, I heard nothing - not even the rustling of animals in the undergrowth.

As I approached, I saw a flash of bright yellow in the distance - a scrap of cloth snagged on a thorny bush. I recognized it as part of the dress I'd envied so much, torn and stained with blood. I found the child's remains shortly after. There wasn't much left besides splintered bones, hair, and more blood-soaked scraps of cloth. I couldn't look away at first. Memories of this beautiful child playing in the woods flooded my mind. I wanted to run, to escape from whatever child-eating monster had killed this human and would certainly kill me next, but my feet were rooted in place. Maybe I wouldn't have cared if it had killed me, but it didn't. All it did was stand behind me and ask, in a deep, even-keeled voice:

"Boy, why are you crying?"

I yelped and stumbled back when I saw him. It was a stranger, but not a human - he was tall, like my mother and I. He loomed over me, his black clothes blending into the shadowy woods. His presence made the overcast afternoon feel like twilight.

"Can you talk, boy?" he said. His voice, like my own, was too quiet for humans to hear. His face, like my mother's, was white and featureless.

I nodded.

"Why are you crying?" he asked again, irritated by my lack of response.

Eventually I managed to mutter, "She was my friend." It wasn't completely a lie - I'd intended to make friends with her some day.

The stranger just said, "A good boy shouldn't play with his food."

The second time I met him, my mother was introducing him to me as my stepfather. There was no doubt in my mind of how little he thought of me. I was too short, too loud, I smiled too much, I didn't stand up straight enough, and I danced through the woods like a human boy. A proper young man walks like an owl flies - slowly and deliberately, with the knowledge that nothing can harm him. My gait was like the flight of a songbird - light, careful, and unthreatening. Timid skipping wasn't going to strike fear into anything's heart. But the worst, in my father's eyes, was my love of animals. I couldn't kill an ant, let alone a human. After I learned that meat came from animals I refused to eat it, and my father tore off my left arm and gave me the choice of eating it, or animal meat. The arm grew back, of course. But the threat got me to eat properly again.

My father believed I was defective, and he convinced my mother to have another child: my half-brother, Jack. As my brother grew up, it became clear my father was right about me. Jack was normal. Even my mother admitted it. From a young age he amused himself by hunting and killing anything small enough for his infant self to overpower. As he became older, he started to spy on me for my father, relaying that not only did I not hunt at all, but I resented Jack for doing so, and protected animals he tried to kill.

My brother had no respect for animals. As a child he hunted for fun, but as we became young men, the hunt began to satisfy a primal urge. The taste for fear becomes acute in adolescence. We become drunk on it, squeezing every drop of terror from our victims. My brother indulged in fear, as is expected for a young man. It was easy. These creatures were below him. They existed for him to hunt and prey upon. But I had grown up loving animals - I couldn't stand to see them suffer, even when every natural urge compelled me to tear them apart. The miserable revulsion I felt for my feral, salacious hunger nearly drove me to suicide, but my father wouldn't have let me die. He was determined to fix me.

Whenever my father witnessed my fondness for an animal, the creature's days were numbered. I couldn't bear to cloister myself from everything that lived, but I remained aloof, to protect them. I envied humans for how they were loved. I had a mother who had stopped loving me, a father who cared little for my existence, and a brother who cared even less. I knew some humans were similarly unfortunate. Yet even if a human's family did not love him, he was surrounded by others of his own kind, and so he could find companionship in friends - or, as I discovered, in a dog.

A group of humans and a dog lived in a very small house further into the woods than the others, and I observed them most carefully. The dog was large, gray, and wolf-like, and he spent most of his time in a large yard separated from my forest by a wooden fence. I hid in the shadows of the trees and watched the three humans and their dog. The humans never spotted me, even when the dog barked in my direction. (Had I been my father, that dog wouldn't be barking - he'd be running in the other direction, scrambling to get in the house.) Many of the things they did I didn't understand - such as tossing a large yellow disc for the dog to catch in his jaws - but the love the dog felt for his humans was unmistakable. It would be so easy to carry him over the fence and allow him to escape to the woods with me. In the evenings I dared to approach the house and stare for hours through the windows at the dog, wondering if he would follow me if I invited him. I doubted it. His loyalty to his humans was too great.

I began to resent them for it. For the first time, the beauty of humans was overshadowed by my envy of their canine companion. I'd have done anything for that dog. I fantasized about terrorizing the two adults: allowing them to spot me through the windows, sending threatening messages from their phone and television, or showing mysterious visions to the child. In my fantasy the humans left the house and the dog stayed behind, but it was a silly thought. Humans would not abandon their dog.

I got my chance on the first warm evening in May. The child walked along a gravel road with the dog on a leash as he often did, but today he stayed out later than usual. Late enough for my brother to come upon him. I noticed Jack before the dog did, but when the dog noticed he began to whine and refused to approach. He feared my brother.

"Hello, Jack." To the human, my voice would sound like the creak of a bough and the snap of a twig underfoot.

"Ernie," my brother replied, his voice like rustling leaves. "What are you doing here?" The dog smelled him, and strained on his leash in the opposite direction. The human boy urged him onward.

"I'm stalking," I said. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"You hate stalking."

"I hate killing," I corrected him. "There's nothing wrong with stalking."

"The animal didn't even notice you," he pointed out, critical as always.

"I'm subtler than you."

"No, you're not as threatening."

The human felt the chill Jack brought to the air, and began to share in the dog's anxiety. He stupidly peered ahead down the road, and back the way he'd come, sparing only a passing glance to where my brother and I hid in the woods. The boy, too, feared my brother.

Jack could feel it. He was transfixed, basking in the human's fear. Had it been any other human, I may have tried to stop him from killing the child, but this one had my dog.

"The child lives in that direction," I said, pointing. "If you stand between him and his home, he stands less chance of escaping."

"You won't stop me?" Jack whispered.

I hesitated a moment before replying, which was all the answer Jack needed. In an instant while the boy looked the other way, Jack flitted out onto the road. He stood perfectly straight and still, far enough from the boy that he would only just be able to make him out in the darkness.

The boy turned around, did a double take, and stared at Jack. My brother looked almost human - tall and thin on two legs, with black clothing and a pale, bald head. Immediately the boy could sense something was not right about him. He wouldn't be able to make out Jack's face. He wouldn't be able to tell just how far away he was, as Jack was taller than any human should be. The boy's terror was palpable, but it was my brother he feared, not me, so I could ignore the instinct to attack.

The dog lunged at his leash, broke free of the boy's grip, and bolted at full speed down the road, caring only to put as much distance between himself and my brother as possible.

The boy hesitated for a moment, then turned away to call after the dog. I didn't watch to see what my brother did next. Instead, I ran after the dog.

The dog tore down the road and into the woods. I followed him, passing like a shadow between the trees. He crashed past trees and bramble, until the long leash flapping behind him got too caught up for him to break free. Tethered, the dog paced and whined, looking around for someone to console him.

I approached carefully, and sat down to be closer to his height. I let him inspect me, walk around me and smell me. A tag hung from an orange collar around the dog's neck, and I tried to read it. I knew some of human writing - the number was a communication code. I could command a telephone to contact this number to reach a particular human. But above it were symbols I didn't understand as well.

"Nee… Hold still," I said. "Neek-hol-as. Nekolas. Nicholas?" Yes, of course. The humans called him Nicky.

"Hello Nicholas," I said, petting him. "I'm Ernie." Nicholas wagged his tail.

I knew just where to keep him safe from my father - a small building, smaller even than a human dwelling, several miles north of my family's home. I walked Nicholas there, holding his leash like the human boy did. I had none of the food the humans fed him, so I gave him some of my own, and he seemed happy enough to eat meat or vegetables.

After a day or two with no human food, Nicholas surprised me by chasing down and killing a rabbit. As he ate the unfortunate creature, I watched with a mixture of emotions. Sorrow, for the rabbit, but pride as Nicholas's accomplishment, and gratitude because he let me eat some of the animal as well. It was the circle of life, after all - predators eat prey. I allowed Nicholas to hunt if he was hungry, and after a while it became something we did together. Hunting with a dog was much easier - the small animals we pursued feared Nicholas more than me, and I didn't feel so bad ending an animal's life if it was to feed my dog.

Nicholas and I went everywhere together. We learned every acre of the forest, besides those too close to the human village or my family's home. We even returned to his old dwelling, to find new humans living there, with a dog of their own. For the first time since meeting my father, I felt truly happy and loved.

I was able to keep Nicholas a secret for a few months before my father discovered him. On a chilly October morning, I went to Nicholas's small shelter and found him missing, leash and all. I spent the entire day looking for him, my fears escalating with each hour. He was nowhere near his house, nor near the human town, nor even near my family's building.

I found my dog deep in the heart of the forest, his leash tied around a large evergreen tree with peeling bark. Beside the tree was my father, his tall frame eclipsing the setting sun. Nicholas must have tried to run, because his leash had worn off much of the tree's flaky bark, but now he merely cowered.

"Father," my adolescent self said, glaring up at him and hoping my resolve might stir some mercy in him. "I won't allow this!"

He did not react, but merely stared at me, annoyed.

"Allow me to release him!" I said. Again my father made no response, but he stepped toward me and took my wrists in his hands, to prevent me from carrying out my threat. He turned me around to face Nicholas. I stared at my dog and he barked, his resolve coming back. He wanted to protect me, the poor creature.

"Please, Father," I said, my resolve fading as I realized what he wanted from me. My cheeks burned and my voice cracked, but I couldn't let my fear of showing weakness keep me silent. "I'll do anything you want." I hated my wavering voice, how I stuttered when I spoke to my father, how near I was to tears. "I'll kill any other animal. I'll kill ten dogs, just not him."

I don't think he even heard me, my voice was so low by then. Regardless, he didn't respond, only held my wrists more tightly. He was unreadable as ever. Was he angry, and wishing I would remain obstinate so he'd have an excuse to beat me? Or was he trying to support me?

Nicholas barked at my father, in a show of strength, but I could tell he was afraid. It simultaneously repulsed and excited me. My spine prickled, and I could feel my tendrils pushing to escape, but I held them in. If I had to kill my dog, I might as well make it painless, and humane. I planned to approach him calmly, keep him comfortable, and embrace him like I always did. If I didn't lose my nerve, I could break his neck before he even knew he was in danger.

"Okay," I said. My father didn't release me, so I said again, "Okay. I'll do it. I'll kill him. Let me go."

He hesitated, then released my wrists and stepped aside. I approached Nicholas and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. He sniffed me and licked the front of my head, and I smiled, despite the situation. I could feel my father's disgust, but I didn't care - I wanted to savor my last moments with my dog. I silently entreated Nicholas to do the same, although I knew it would do no good. He wagged his tail and licked me as if all was good and right in the world.

His ignorance and abject happiness were of small comfort as I prepared, fighting to keep my hands from shaking. I ran my fingers over the neck I had to break, and I realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill my dog. I couldn't kill Nicholas. It wasn't within the realm of possibility. Yet, I had no other option. To refuse would cause him to suffer far more at the hands of my father, and I couldn't put myself before him that way. If I killed him, he would never know I betrayed him, but if my father did it, Nicholas would know it was my cowardice that caused him to die.

In hindsight, I probably could have done it. I could have summoned up the bravery to end his life and go on with mine, but I failed. I was halfway through the motion of snapping Nicholas's neck when I lost my resolve, and he yelped and jumped away. I collapsed belly-down into the damp leaves and cried for what seemed like an age. It can't have been more than a few moments though, because the next thing I heard was Nicholas scrambling through the brush and yelping when he reached the end of his tether. The sound silenced my cries, and I held my breath, listening to it.

I sat up and, almost against my will, watched the dog struggle. The sun had set, and the sky had turned a deep indigo; dark, overcast, and starless. The dog bawled, and in the distance I could hear other dogs from the village join in. They cried out together of the imminent threat to one of their number, and I could do nothing but block the sound out, and pretend the threat was something other than me.

I had to run away. I knew how to let animals run away without chasing them, but this dog was tethered, and could not escape. I turned to run but my father blocked me, holding me by the shoulders. He was still taller than me, so I had to look up at him.

"Father," I whispered, "Please let me go."

He turned me around and said nothing. I brought my hands up to block the dog's panic from my senses, but my father took my wrists and held them at my sides. It hardly made any difference - I could sense the dog's fear whether or not I could see him.

My unease ebbed away as I watched the dog. He knew I meant to kill him, and he did his utmost to break free from the tether, whining and howling in fear. I didn't notice him leave, but I suddenly found my arms were free, and my father was no longer behind me. My tendrils extended from my back - thin, ghostly appendages that reached out like black snakes to sever the dog's leash. For a fraction of a second, the animal fled, but I easily overtook him.

My mind was consumed with the animal's fear. It fought back when it could no longer run. I wanted to take its head off when it bit me, but that would have ended it too quickly. Had it been a human, I might have relished in its despair, but dogs aren't intelligent enough to submit to defeat. It fought me in its stupid, mechanical way that years of evolution had honed. It was insufficient to keep him alive.

I was covered in blood by the time I let the dog die, but I'd made the error of leaving the corpse recognizable. Most of his flesh was still there and ready to be eaten, but before I could eat it, I remembered who he was.

I screamed. I was beyond sadness, or even rage. What I felt in that moment was deepest, purest horror. I was revolted by my own actions, and by the emotions I had felt a moment ago - those true, real emotions that were not the product of my father's trickery or my own self-deception. I wanted to die. My own existence was abhorrent.

I resolved to find a cliff and throw myself off it, but I hadn't gone three steps before my father scooped me up. Me lifted me and held me like a small child.

"No, Ernest, it's okay.  _ Ernest _ ," he said, as my screams dissolved into weeping. "It's okay. I'm so proud of you."


End file.
